A Hundred Years of Brotherhood
by TeaAndUmbrellas
Summary: England occasionally struggles with the fear of change, and Scotland occasionally takes his role as the big brother seriously. Set at the outbreak of WW1 1914 and before the Scottish Referendum 2014. Some family fluff, and a little angsty-England. T for possible swearing. One Shot.


_This was first inspired by a WWI documentary on the BBC with Jeremy Paxman. He said the Prime Minister and two cabinet ministers, started crying. And the foreign minister had a breakdown as he spoke to the American ambassador - which must have been shocking for the American and horrifying for poor Sir Edward Grey!_

_The second bit is of course about the Scottish referendum for Independence coming up in September. _

_FLUFFY FLUFF IS FLUFF. OK ? It's raining. I'm in Scotland. I've slept for three hours to catch a stupidly early train because it was only £6 instead of like £20. The café (The Elephant House) I'm writing at is really cold. And I am having UK emotions. So I am entitled to post all the fluff I want, thank you very much !_

_I'm doing a half-hearted attempt at a Scottish accent. I am very sorry it's not perfect, and I'm trying to be generic. I know there are many regional differences. But I didn't want to have him talk like England either._

_Ken = know_

_I think that is all you need to know, the rest should be very self-explanatory._

_(I wrote this a week ago in Scotland. It's still raining where I am now, in Norway. Maybe I have personal rain clouds? Who knows. )_

Hetalia is not mine

* * *

**1914**

England had stood pale but strong among his cabinet and Prime Minister looking up at the clock tower as Big Ben stroke 11am. It was official, they were at war with Germany.

They hadn't been at war with Europe since Napoléon. Why did this have to happen to them!?

Two cabinet ministers resigned weeping, making the Prime Minister himself cry.

It would be fine wouldn't it? Wouldn't it? Britain had become damned good at fighting. Had always been really. But small colonial fights! Not anything massive, against another great power, with technology and…

England hurried home, taking deep breaths. He would not panic. He was Fine!

Keep calm, keep calm… he was breathing too quickly as he walked down the streets of London trying to make it home. He lived in Westminster, not far from the Queen or Prime Minister themselves, but now the short walk from the Palace of Westminster felt like miles.

Arthur's fight or flight instinct was triggered, he could feel his heart racing, his eyes bulging. He felt like a terrified rabbit chased by a fox.

There! Finally, his London town house! His hand shook as he locked himself inside.

England didn't even make it to the kettle. He slid down the wall in the hallway, burying his face in his tucked up knees, and tried to catch his breath. He felt so silly. Why should he be so scared? Had truly a hundred years made him soft? He was the British sodding Empire!

'Have ye gone soft lad?' a voice suddenly asked from the dark.

England looked up in shock, having believed he was alone. 'Scotland!?'

'Aye. What are ye doing on the floor wee one?'

'I… I,' England couldn't think of anything to say. He could honestly feel himself crying. Had Scotland ever seen him cry before? He buried his face in his hands.

'Please, go away Scotland!' he demanded of the elder Brit.

'This isn't like ye. Where is my usual twat of a brother, excited to beat the shit out of anyone in his way?'

'He is off building an empire far far away from Europe and their stupid wars', England muttered. Refusing to lift his face to look at his brother. He hated to show weakness. Hated not to be in control. Particularly around his brothers.

Bloody hell, he was an English gentleman! Crying should only be done in the privacy of one's own basement or attic. Why couldn't Scotland just go away and give him a few minutes to collect himself!?

Arthur could feel his ginger brother slide down the wall next to him. England cringed away, not wanting to be touched by anyone. Why couldn't he calm down!? Why couldn't Scotland leave so that England could have the chance to compose himself?

Why did he have to be so weak!?

'Ye're not weak, lad' Scotland said softly next to him.

'Anyone who can beat me in a battle, even if it has more to do with money and numbers than physical strength, is not weak', his big brother said, obviously saying he would win a fight between them, which was quite likely though England resented that, but it was also meant as a compliment.

England stiffened. Had he spoken of his insecurity out loud? Or did Scotland simply know him too well after all these centuries?

'Remember, ye're not alone either. There's me, Wales, Ireland, and a quarter of the sodding world. We have an Empire ye ken!'

Scotland place a hand on Arthur's shoulder, but the younger brushed it off, a little harsher than he actually meant to, and look up though his eyes were still swollen.

'Can't you just please piss off? I know you're here to gloat at my poor luck, but I really don't need this right now' England snapped. Trying to push the other further away, but he was still shaky.

'Cannae a big brother be worried about his wee brother?

'Not when it's you' _there is too much between us._

Scotland, however, ignored England's futile attempts at preserving his privacy, and stubbornly stayed with his brother. The day after, they went to war, strong and composed, like the Empire they were, together.

* * *

**2014**

Scotland had arranged a meeting with England at a pub, a nice, slightly hidden away one in central London, where there were rarely any tourists, but a good amount of regulars that would not disturb them.

After having arrived and then waited for two whole pints, Scotland gave up and went to find England himself.

As he locked himself into his brother's house with his spare key, and wandered around the house he couldn't see his brother anywhere.

A normal person might assume England was out, but Scotland knew better. The redhead calmly made a pot of tea and then walked to the library. As he went inside he said 'I ken ye're in here. Would ye like ta come out ?'

There was no movement, so Scotland put the tea down on the desk and then looked underneath it. Just as he had expected he found the blonde tucked into a ball hiding under his desk. The Englishman had been doing it since they were little, and he was not a country famous for his ability to change.

'Piss off Scotland. I didn't say you could come in', Arthur spat at the sudden intrusion into his private life.

'Well. Then ye should pick up yer phone and cancel our meeting before I get on a five hour long train journey ta London then !' the older spat back.

'Oh...' was the very articulate response from the younger brother. 'Sorry, I..'

'Arthur are you ill ?' the Scot asked, having now slumped himself against the leg of the old oak desk.

'It's this damned weather! All the floods and the rain is making me feel absolutely rubbish', he Englishman complained. Though they both knew it was not the whole truth. The date marked exactly 6 months until the Scottish independence referendum.

'Aye, ye were always more sensitive to weather than the rest of us,' Scotland noted, playing along as he knew England wanted, or rather needed, him to do.

'What? No! If you haven't noticed I've been bloody drowning for months!'

'Aye. But it's still nothing compared to real weather. Ye must have the mildest climate on the planet, lad' the Scot teased, as he scrambled to his feet simply to slump down into England's expensive desk chair.

Normally he would plant his feet on the three hundred year old oak desk in order to annoy his brother, but not today.

'Won't ye come out from under there ? I'm not saying yer face is a pleasure to behold, but it isnae polite to ignore guests who have traveled far. Aren't ye at least goin tae offer me some tea ?' Scotland teased.

England froze. He didn't want to move just yet. Honestly, he had been sitting under the desk since last night. His casual suit had become wrinkly, the tea in the pot on top of the desk was now very cold and miserable, and falling asleep in a cramped little space made his body ache.

Last night he had paced in his office. He had panicked. He had thrown a plaid pillow out the window. In the end he had simply crawled into the small closed space under his desk. Obviously he had not intended any of that to happen, particularly accidentally falling asleep for Scotland to find him like this.

'England ?' the Scotsman asked, with that particular pronunciation of his country's name, with the particular vowel sounds which made it sound both harsher and more melodious at the same time.

'What ?' he snapped back.

'Ye need tae talk tae me'. Alistair's voice was much softer than usual. If anything, England had anticipated ridicule for being such a «wee bairn », not this. He didn't know how to handle not being taunted. Can you still shout at and insult someone who is addressing you like that ?

'No I don't. I don't need to do anything at the moment. I am officially cancelling our meeting. Short notice I know, but I would prefer it if we postponed it until tomorrow as I am feeling a bit under the weather, thanks' England tried to say in his best formal voice, but he just came across as childish and insecure.

Arthur knew it was a long shot in the dark, but he was half hoping the other would leave.

They sat in silence for quite a while. England could feel himself being more stubborn than was socially acceptable even between brothers, but he just could not bring himself to deal with reality at the moment.

The blonde has leaned back and closed his eyes again, possibly hoping to fall back to sleep in order not to deal with this situation at the present, when the other started singing. It was a very old lullaby in Gaellic. England had never learnt the language and didn't understand the words, but he knew the song well despite not having heard it in years.

As the song ended the Scot climbed down on the floor and reached out a hand to the English. 'Please, let's go have a cuppa together. I want to talk to ye'.

England finally accepted, and climbed out from under the desk.

Scotland handed him a mug of tea from the pot he had made. Glad he had brought the tea cosy so the brew was still decently hot.

Arthur would usually host his guests to his smartest china, but Scotland knew he preferred to drink out of mugs when he was alone and didn't keep up his pretentious exteriour. England was now clutching the mug like a lifeline, having muttered a quick "ta" to his brother.

It was obvious he didn't want to meet his brother's eyes. He was embarrassed.

England decided to take a deep breath, count to three and regain his composure. As he looked up at Scotland, who had always been taller however much England had grown when they were younger, he was no longer the dishevelled little child from under the desk, but one of the leading global powers.

However, he was tired and he was with Scotland. His defence and his shield could break at any time.

Scotland let the younger play his game. He himself appreciated emotional honesty and directness, but his brother hated that sort of thing. Right now he would try to let the conversation be as English-friendly as possible.

'I have to apologise for my rudeness. Of course I should not have forgotten about our appointment, or asked you to leave like that', England said, still clutching his mug with both hands, but finally calming down properly.

'What did you want to talk about then ?' he asked, slightly cautiously.

'We both ken that. Aye, our governments have agreed upon having a referendum, and ye are publicly agreeing, but I want tae hear it from ye. I know this is difficult for ye, so I want us to discuss it together' Scotland said to an England who wished he could be anywhere but here.

When face with emotions England usually had two options. In this case they would be : forcing Scotland to stay with military power or ignore that it was happening but deal with the consequences. In no way did he want to actually think about it before it was an actual problem at all.

'Don't ye want me to have my independence ?' the Scotsman asked.

'Of course you should have your independence if that is what you want, I just.. you know I hate change. Can't we… drift apart slowly over the next hundred or so years?' England asked.

'That is nae how it works, and ye ken it,' Scotland laughed a little at his brothers self-awareness.

'England. I cannae leave ye for real even if I tried. It is purely political,' the red head continued.

'I have heard that argument. Don't worry, we will become like Scandinavia. « They are still friends » !' England spat, mocking the tone of the politicians. God he was tired of these debates ! Another six months of them seemed so unreasonable. Of course, most of his people were trying to ignore it. Just like Arthur was. But he found he could not simply ignore a debate on the BBC, or in the Times.

'It is not the same for them, and you know it. You'll just end up like Ireland'. England closed his mouth quickly. Had he just said that out loud ? Had he, in a way, admitted to being scared of abandonment and rejection? For fuck's sakes Arthur! He thought angrily at himself.

'Calm down. It isnae like I can leave the island!' Scotland laughed and ruffled the hair of his wee brother. Who moved away in annoyance.

'No, I couldn't get rid of you even if I wanted to, in all fairness,' England said with a small grin.

'But 307 years Scotland!' he exclaimed. 'We built an empire together, fought the world wars, does none of that mean anything to you?'

Scotland looked very serious now. 'Ye also oppressed my culture. It may be called the British Empire, but ye were always in charge. I have my own national character and rich history. We should get to decide our faith, like any other nation'.

England nodded. He knew. He had done some bad things. In fairness so had Scotland. Even today his politicians had a tendency to ignore the Scottish, and favour a South Eastern English accent for TV, radio and politics. But that also affected the rest of the UK, the rest of England too.

'But things have changed. You have your own parliament. I just don't see why there is a need to go even further, I suppose'.

'And if yer people had been under Scottish rule? Wouldnae ye want yer independence?' Scotland challenged.

Probably. At least if the Scottish were trying to oppress English culture. What would they take away anyway? Tea drinking, cricket and morris dancing? Their language?

'I don't know. Before, yes. People do seem to want to live their lives without all the political hassle though. As long as things work we are happy. Nowadays we are more global and interconnected too', England thought out loud. 64% vote in UK elections, much less in EU ones. Were they just becoming apathetic as a nation?

'Oppressing us seem to have had costs to English identity too', Scotland said. 'Wales have more symbols and celebrations of being Welsh. Ye tend to stick to the UK stuff. The UK national day, the UK national flag, the British monarch. Ye even use the British national anthem at sports'.

'Hey, we have an unofficial one. And we use it in test cricket!' Arthur argued.

'But not in any other sport', Scotland noted.

'What I'm wondering is this. Maybe ye're scared that us becoming independent means ye will have to think of what it means to be only English, not British. And ye donnae want to do that?'

England felt his heart sink. Was that true? Maybe it was. He was proud of his long history as a nation, his anglo-saxon roots, but he only waved the English flag at sports, when Britain didn't participate as a whole. Wales was draped with the Welsh flags, and Scotland decorated with thistles and the St. Andrew's cross.

Apparently Ireland drank more tea than Britain these days too.

England felt as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over him. So much of being English was about being British, and staying connected to the Commonwealth. Of course there were things that were quintessentially English, but not having been oppressed they never needed to think much about it.

'Being English is not just about symbols, it's about our character as a nation. And our history and traditions. I would like you to stay in the Union, but not because we are not without national character', England said out loud to his brother.

Did being an Empire mean sacrificing some of your own identity? Surely, they all spoke his language. But tea came from the colonies, and their favourite dish curry came from India. Maybe it was typically English to steal from others? Both literal stealing, but also being inspired by the food and culture of others?

Or maybe it was about having an intense curiosity about the world outside of the little island? England didn't know. All he knew was that the thought of Scotland potentially leaving the United Kingdom made him slightly nauseous.

'Ye haven't had to fight much for your nationality, England. Not since the Normans invaded. But ye've made us fight for ours, maybe that made ours more important?' Scotland wondered.

England sighed. 'It isn't about the national identity, though is it? Your biggest worry is economy. Well, I'm sorry we are in a recession. And I'm sorry if you don't like the party in charge, but we are a democracy, and if parts of the country were to leave as they disagreed with whom was in government, we would be five hundred micronations by now'.

'That's what I am saying. It's not personal. A lot of Scots have family in England, and likewise. It's about self-determination, not about rejecting ye'.

England had tried to understand. Suppose he did really. 'It is not for me to have an opinion about anyway, Scotland. If you and your people decide to leave we will not stop you. And whatever we say, we will miss you'.

Arthur had tried to say the last sentence as platonic, and business like as he could, but his voice cracked a little. He hoped that Scotland knew that however much stupid stuff the English might say or do, or however badly they might react, what it all came down to was that they would miss Scotland, but didn't know how to handle their emotions. Surely Scotland knew?

The two brothers looked at each other. No hate, no humour, just rational and serious. Maybe they finally had become adults? If that was even possible for the two Brits. They hadn't gone this long without fighting or yelling in nearly a hundred years.

'I ken England, I ken'.

* * *

_I am not trying to tell any Scottish readers what to vote or how to vote. I honestly think both decisions are sound and valid and will support whatever. This fic is between England and Scotland as individuals and brothers. _

_I have tried to put some feelings towards the referendum on paper a couple of times. Mostly I just put my fingers in my ears and go "La la la la la can't hear you!" like the rest of England (minus some stupid politicians), but that is not really working too well for me, so I figured I'd write something. This is sort of cute, but I have written something else which is pretty dark, that I might post. _

_In regards to the fic in general I have this feeling that Scotland would want to take care of England (at least when the Englishman is being less of a git), but maybe doesn't know how. And I don't think England would let him much. I still wanted to reflect on their sibling relations though. And this is what I came up with. I think we are all more used to them beating each other to a pulp, so I wanted something nicer out there too. At the end of the day, they are brothers._

_Please review (they keep me going)_


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